Shag Carpeting
by OutToGarden
Summary: America, being completely clueless about British slang, invites England over to his house to check out some new renovations and can't understand why his awesome new shag rug elicits a strange reaction. Smut ensues.


It had been several years since England had actually set foot inside America's house. Sure, they had been on better terms ever since the Second World War, but they didn't exactly make a habit out of popping in to visit one another. Usually, they would see each other at meetings and holiday get-togethers, leaving the more personal visits to other nations. Which was why he was rather surprised when he suddenly got an invitation from the younger nation to come and check out some "renovations." He hadn't even been aware that America was making changes to his house (and nor did he particularly care), but knew it would be pointless to argue such points with the stubborn nation.

_And really_, he thought to himself as he stood outside America's house upon arrival, _it looks no different than the last time I saw it_. Sighing, he made one final attempt to smooth out the wrinkles that had accumulated in his outfit from the flight over and picked up his overnight bag to proceed to the front door, bracing himself for the predictably exhausting energy of his former colony.

"Hey, England!" America enthused as soon as he swung open the door. Offering a polite smile, England gestured to the exterior of the house.

"Are these your renovations? If so, I'm afraid to say I don't see much difference," he said dryly. He meant the comment to imply _I think you are wasting my time_, but as usual, it went straight over the taller blond's head.

"Naw! They're all inside. C'mon in, I'll show you to the guest room," he said as he opened the door wider and stepped back into the house to allow his visitor entry. England had to admit, as he took in the altered appearance of the foyer, America had made some nice changes. From what he could remember, the ceilings were slightly higher and new light fixtures were adorned in various places. The effect was ruined, however, by the freshly repainted walls that now proudly displayed tacky, bright colors. Turning back to America to find him smiling expectantly, England arched an eyebrow delicately.

"Interesting palette choices," he scoffed, etching a frown onto his face when America merely looked pleased with himself.

"Thanks! Here, let me get that," he offered, gesturing to the bag still clutched in England's hand.

"I'm perfectly capable of carrying a bag, America," England huffed indignantly. Shrugging, the larger nation spun around on his heels and began marching up his staircase.

"Follow me! Guest rooms are up here, in case you don't remember. I can show you a lot of the cool stuff I put in along the way!"

For a few minutes, England allowed America to take him on a small detour of the upstairs, explaining small changes here and there. He at least pretended to be genuinely interested in what his younger had to say, but internally he was lost in his own thoughts. He had heard from France after getting the invite from America that many other nations had also been invited, but weren't coming due to "busy schedules". He knew that was just an excuse to not have to listen to the rantings of the American on something they knew nothing about and he had argued with himself for many hours on whether or not to come. It wasn't necessarily a big deal to be here, but to be honest he didn't care about the changes made to the house he was currently being led through. If it weren't for his boss urging him to get closer to his English speaking ally, he likely would have made up an excuse like the other nations. England was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice when America came to an abrupt stop, causing the shorter man to bump into him unceremoniously.

"—and this is where the main event is! I can't show you yet though, it's gotta be a surprise. Not that it wouldn't be right now, but I need to build up suspense to it more, you know?" America was saying excitedly.

"No," England stated bluntly, recognizing that the door they had stopped outside was that of America's bedroom. Assuming the other nation had installed something moronic like a flashy dance floor in his room, England decided there on the spot that he couldn't care less about whatever the American had done to his room and he would not give him the satisfaction of appearing interested, instead shifting about uncomfortably from having to walk around with his bag for so long.

America visibly deflated at England's apparent lack of enthusiasm, but recovered quickly. "Welllll you're totally missing out! I mean, it's super groovy. Maybe later I'll show you, but I need to know that you'll appreciate it properly."

England rolled his eyes, highly doubting that time would ever come. "That's very nice, America. Now can you please show me to the guest room so that I can set my things down?"

"Fine," America pouted. "You should totally remember the way yourself, though. It hasn't been _that _long since you've been here. Is the Alzheimer's having early onset with you or something?" Laughing obnoxiously at his own joke, America just barely ducked the punch aimed at his nose.

"Nations can't get Alzheimer's you asshat! For your information, I can remember my way just fine around other people's homes. Yours is just so freakishly large that anyone would get turned around in here," England fumed.

"Ahaha! Yeah right. My house is the perfect size. It was totally destined to be this huge," he informed as he strolled down one of the hallways.

England decided to remain silent, not bothering to point out that the younger nation had evicted the previous owners quite forcefully. When they arrived at the guest bedroom a few doors down, England gratefully entered and set his bag down on the twin sized bed, stretching out his limbs and back that were still sore from the cramped flight across the Atlantic Ocean earlier that morning.

"So you gonna be cool in here for like, twenty minutes? I have to go check on Tony," America said from the doorway.

"Oh, you still have that…friend of yours?"

"Yeah! He's making us dinner. I know he'll totally be happy to see you. It's so great that you guys get along so well," America said warmly. England merely nodded and smiled weakly before America was disappearing back down the hall into his labyrinth of a house. Suppressing a shudder at the thought of an extraterrestrial dinner, he decided he might as well make use of the adjoining bathroom and freshen up a bit.

Half an hour later, England found himself in the most tense dinner atmosphere he had ever had to suffer through. America, naturally, was chattering happily about some new TV show, totally unaware that two of his best friends were having an intense staring contest.

"Fucking limey."

America cut himself off mid-sentence to look over at the alien in surprise before breaking out into a blissful smile. "Aww, wasn't that sweet?" he asked, looking over at England.

"Quite," the smaller blond ground out.

"Fucking bitch."

England glared heavily at the grey life form before turning back to his food. He had to admit: for an alien, Tony hadn't done a bad job with dinner. Even if he was incredibly vulgar. And still staring at him.

"Cunt."

"Alright I'm done!" England declared loudly while pushing back his chair. America looked at him in confusion.

"Really? Already? Don't ya want any dessert?"

England resolutely shook his head. "No, that's quite alright. I'll just wash the dishes and be off to bed if that's fine with you."

America looked slightly crestfallen, but he wouldn't force the Brit to stay at the table if he didn't want to. It was understandable, since he was probably growing jealous that an extraterrestrial could cook better than him and all.

"Okay, that's—oh hey wait!" America suddenly jumped up, abandoning his own food and rushing into the kitchen after the other in sudden realization. "You can't go to bed yet!"

"And why not?" England asked crossly. It wasn't that he wanted to go to bed as it was still rather early, but he didn't see much else to do while trapped in the house with Tony and America.

"Because! You still haven't seen the main event!" America announced. At England's blank look, he elaborated. "You know…that rad thing I got put into my room?"

"Oh, yes that," England deadpanned. Did he really have to see whatever it was? It all seemed silly to him. He knew America was just trying to show off with all of his fancy renovations and quite frankly he was ready to go to sleep so he could be out of there early in the morning. It wasn't that he didn't want to spend time with the boy (or rather, America seemed to have no interest in the kind of _quality time _England had been having unfortunate dreams about for the better part of the last century), but he really did have his own problems to worry about back in his country.

"Yes, _that!_" America shouted enthusiastically. "I think I've let the suspense build up enough. I could tell all throughout dinner that you were tense with curiosity. Don't worry, I'm not gonna leave you hanging!"

"How generous," England muttered, but nevertheless followed the American back up the stairs to his bedroom.

When they got there, America was practically vibrating with excited energy. England rolled his eyes once more at the sight, knowing that if America was excited, whatever he was about to be shown was going to be idiotic and not at all worth his time.

"Okay, without further ado, prepare to be amazed!" America whooped and threw open the door with an accompanying _taa-daa_ sound to reveal….

America's bedroom, looking the same as it had for as long as he had been living in this house. Or, it would be America's bedroom, but there was now an absolutely hideous _thing _taking up the large floor space in front of the king-sized bed. It took England's eyes a minute to adjust to the bright, traffic-cone orange color, but when they did he was left even more confused. It appeared to be a rug, although he couldn't remember ever having seen an uglier carpet in his entire thousand years of existence. It looked almost half-finished with short strings sticking up every which way as if the maker had been too lazy to actually trim it down properly.

England looked over at the grinning nation who was now clearly waiting for him to give some form of appreciation.

"What the bloody fuck is that?"

America's eyes widened comically as if that had been the last thing he expected to hear. "What do you mean? It's my shag rug!"

England immediately stopped attempting to shield his eyes from the atrocious color and looked at America incredulously.

"Your _what?!"_

"My shag rug!" America repeated happily as he strolled into the room to stand closer to his latest prized possession. "Isn't it awesome?"

England narrowed his eyes at the other nation, still wondering if he had heard correctly. "Your…shag rug."

"Yup! C'mon, check it out!"

"Er…" England cleared his throat and tried to will away his sudden blush by conjuring up a lecture. "America, why are you showing me something like this? Why do you even have something like that to begin with? I certainly have no interest in what you do in your private life. Did France tell you to get one of these?"

"I'm showing it to you because it's awesome, which is also the same reason I got it. Does France have these too? Man, remind me to congratulate him on finally developing a sense of taste," America chirped, plopping down smack in the middle of the furry monstrosity and patting the space next to him. "Seriously though, it's super soft! You have to come over here and sit on it."

England was growing more uncomfortable by the minute. "No, that's really alright. I can see it just fine from here."

America frowned, wondering why England was suddenly acting so strange. "Yeah but you can't _feel _it. You have not lived until you've felt the amazingness of my shag!"

England practically choked on a gasp that tore its way down his throat. Was America being serious? He felt his face flame up, cursing how easily he blushed in circumstances such as this. After centuries of knowing America, he had an inkling of a notion that the younger nation had a different meaning for the word "shag", but that didn't stop his cock from twitching at hearing those words from the same nation he had been lusting after for so long. Internally debating how he should react, he didn't realize that America was still staring at him and waiting for a response.

"Um, are you okay?" America asked worriedly. Had something from dinner somehow gotten lodged into England's throat? "You're not dying, are you?"

This allowed the English nation to finally recover enough in order to get out an appropriate reply. "Of course I'm not dying. You just…caught me off guard, I suppose. Haha, funny joke, I say," he said smoothly. Good, treat it all like a prank. Because surely America didn't mean…?

"Riiiight," America said slowly, wondering what had gotten into his friend. "Are you going to come sit, then?"

England gulped before approaching slowly and cautiously setting himself down on the carpet next to the American. He wriggled a little, feeling the soft fibers shifting beneath him. It _was_ a rather comfortable carpet, he supposed, if one could get past the nearly blinding color. Trying desperately to keep his mind off of the word "shag" and what (and who) America could have been doing on this carpet since getting it, he chanced a glance over at the other nation, finding him unceremoniously sprawled out over it on his back. _No, bad England_, he scolded himself. _Don't think about him on his back either_. He bit his cheek harshly as his eyes acquired a mind of their own and wandered over the blissful expression on the younger's face, over the expanse of chest whose muscles could be seen even through the fabric of his shirt, and straight down to where America's legs were slightly open in a "V" shape. England felt his pants suddenly become significantly tighter.

"See? Told you it was awesome," America mumbled, nuzzling his face into the rug and letting out a small, content moan. _Dear lord. _

"Yes, quite," England said faintly. If America noticed the hoarse quality to the Brit's voice, he didn't let on. Instead, he flipped himself over onto his stomach and wriggled his entire body into the fiber.

"Mmmmm, so cozy."

England burst into a fake coughing fit to cover up his sharp intake of breath at that and decided that it was definitely a good time to make his retreat and shower before bed so he could take care of his sudden problem.

"Ahem. Well, I'll leave you alone to enjoy it. Good night," he rushed out and attempted to stand. Attempted, because as soon as he shifted to get up, America had flipped over and grabbed his wrist.

"No wait! Dude I can totally tell you aren't appreciating it enough. Just sit back down, I'll teach you to love shag!"

Despite England's frantic protests, America took a firmer hold of his wrist and pulled with the intention of forcing him to sit back down and endure a lesson on the wonders of shag carpeting. However, he hadn't accommodated for the fact that England was _really_ desperate to leave and so when he tugged, it caused England to overbalance and fall face first on top of America.

Both nations simply lay still for a few seconds, staring at each other in surprise. England didn't dare try to move for fear of stimulating his erection and making an already embarrassing situation into something positively humiliating. However, after a few more moments, America's face went from his usual tan to an appealing shade of pink.

"Uh…England?" he said shyly.

"…yes America?"

Pause. "Why do you have a boner?"

England stared down at the other nation and viciously repressed the urge to rip off both of their pants and take him then and there. Instead, he coughed lightly and tried to think of a decent explanation.

"Well, you see…" he broke off, wondering if there was really any other way to say it. No, there really wasn't, was there? "It was all that damn talk about shagging and then you just had to go and roll around on it and _moan _of all things! What is wrong with you?!" _Good job, England_, he thought proudly. _Blame everything on him_.

America's blush deepened. "_Oh_."

"'Oh' is right. Moron," England grumbled. He decided that he had made the poor boy uncomfortable enough and immediately began shifting to get off when suddenly—

"Wait!" America cried, latching his hands over England's shoulders to stop him from moving. England looked down in confusion.

"I was going to get off of you," he explained. "I'm in need of a shower."

America looked away from the strong green gaze and focused on something off to the side of the room. "Um…you don't have to," he said in a timid voice.

"No, I really do," England said exasperatedly, rolling his hips to demonstrate. Honestly, did that boy not know how erections worked?

America groaned a little at the extra contact, biting his lip in a fashion nearly irresistible to the Brit. "No, I mean…." He took a deep breath in preparation for what he was about to say and looked back up at England. "You can _get off_, but you don't have to get up."

England furrowed his brow in confusion for a moment before realization hit. "_Oh."_

America's lips quirked upward into a smile. "Yeah, _oh_."

"Are-are you sure?" he asked nervously, licking his lips.

America nodded, lifting his hips slightly to rub against the smaller man and causing them both to moan. England realized with surprise that at some point in the last couple of minutes, America had gone nearly as hard as he was. "Definitely."

That was all the encouragement England needed before he was smashing their lips together and _dear god _did it feel good to finally be kissing the other nation like this. He almost couldn't believe this was actually happening, but it felt too real and too hot to be another one of his wet dreams. England ruthlessly attacked the surprisingly soft lips with his own, nipping until the other took the hint and opened his mouth to allow for a British invasion.

"England, ooh England," America moaned into his mouth as England began desperately frotting against the other's dick. America immediately wrapped his arms tightly around his neck as his legs attempted to push his hips further into his own when the green-eyed man began kissing down his neck and over his collarbone, pausing here and there to suck on a spot when it drew a particularly loud gasp. He worshiped the skin he found there for several more moments, pleased when the marks insantly reddened into hickeys that would show for at least several days.

"Jesus fuck," England hissed when his ass was suddenly groped by two large hands. America grinned cheekily up at him, looking positively fuckable with glistening lips and darkened eyes.

"Can we possibly hurry this up a little?"

Rolling his eyes at the nations' never ending impatience, England nevertheless reached down to the hem of America's shirt and began pulling it up. Under normal circumstances, he would have berated him for being childlike in his inability to wait for things, but considering the fact that he was about to fuck him into the god awful orange rug, pointing out his childishness was probably not the best way to go. When the American's chest was free from the offending fabric, England quickly began his crusade to kiss and mark as many spots as possible, paying special attention to the two pink nipples.

While England was preoccupied with his chest, America frantically tore off the Brit's own shirt and did his best to return the hickey's that had been delivered to his neck and collar. By the time England had managed to lick his way down to America's Bible Belt, both of them were extremely horny and running out of patience for foreplay. Without fanfare, America's jeans were unzipped and tossed carelessly to the side, leaving him clothed only in a thin pair of underwear that England greedily eyed an impressive erection through.

"Do you have anything?" he asked America, trying to ignore how out of breath and eager he sounded.

"Yeah," America panted, sounding every bit as eager as England. "In the nightstand beside my bed."

Mourning the loss of contact as he stood up and made his way over to where America had pointed, England threw away any gentleman notions he had ever had as he _ran _and nearly tripped over his own feet in the process. He had to practice extreme restraint to not rip the drawer straight out of the table and fling the contents over the room, but was glad enough to see that the bottle of lube was sitting right on the top of a stack of magazines in plain sight. His relief at not having to search, however, was slightly diminished as he hurried back to the warm, waiting body and realized that the bottle was nearly half empty.

England peered through narrowed eyes at the American who had removed his glasses while waiting for England to come back and held up the lube so that he could get a clear view.

"Not that it's any of my business," he remarked as he pulled off America's underwear and smoothed his hand over the soft thighs, staring greedily at the small hole in anticipation for being buried inside of it, "but exactly how many people have you shagged on this blasted rug?"

America halted his hand's advance down the Brit's back. "Huh?"

"I said," now upending the bottle to pour out an amount onto his fingers, "how many people have you let fuck you while lying on this rug?"

America's eyes hungrily took in the sight of elegant fingers being rubbed together in preparation before his lust-hazed mind could absorb what had just been said.

"Wait…" and slowly, very slowly, he understood. "Shagging means fucking?!" He let out a raucous laughter that was rather unbecoming of the mood. "That's priceless! No wonder you got all hot and bothered. Pft."

England gave a long-suffering sound and wiggled his fingers. "That doesn't answer my question."

"Right," America began, the previous laughter diminishing into nervous chuckles. "I'm actually a virgin. I only have that because I got curious and needed something to make thinking about you easier," he said with such a lewd look in his eyes that England nearly came on the spot.

"That's good to hear," England said after a moment spent collecting himself and gulped audibly. Deciding he absolutely could not wait longer (and really, why had they waited for so many years after fixing their relations to do this anyway?), he promptly plunged his index finger deep into America, soothingly kissing his bent knee when he hissed at the penetration.

America hadn't been lying about being a virgin. Even though he had apparently fingered himself before, it still took several minutes just to get him stretched out enough to fit in a second finger and England had to reach down and palm himself through his pants a few times to get some form of contact to his painful erection, occasionally leaning over to bite America's shoulder or collar or neck and whisper things like "mine" or "nobody gets to shag you on this carpet but me" and "or anywhere else for that matter". America was only making matters worse with the way he kept moaning and blushing and squirming and calling his name until finally (finally!) he was fingering him with all three fingers and he could tell that America was ready.

America whined pitifully when he drew his fingers away, but stopped when he saw that England's hands were going to the belt holding up the pants that he for some reason was still wearing.

"America," England said, looking him dead in the eye as he ripped open the front of his pants and pulled out his cock, "I'm going to fuck you now."

The younger nation nodded, using his strong legs to draw himself closer to the man hovering over him and help make entering him easier. Both of them groaned as England slowly eased his dick into America's tight, virgin hole, not wanting to hurt him but almost too out of his mind in need to care. Fortunately, so was America.

"Just…just _go_, okay?" he demanded through gritted teeth. "I can handle it."

England nodded and kissed the nation sweetly before pulling out almost entirely and slamming back in.

"Oh fuckinghelljesus," he moaned. He could already tell he wasn't going to last very long, not when it had been quite a while since he had been with someone, not when it was _America_ that he was currently doing this to, and especially not when America was determinedly keeping his eyes open so that he could stare right back at his new lover to show how badly he wanted him, needed him.

Watching America's face while England was fucking him had to be England's new favorite pastime. As he rocked his body into the one below him again and again and again and again he realized, with slight hints of shame, that he had never quite seen something as beautiful as blue eyes with pupils blown wide with lust or a stubborn cowlick that bounced with each thrust, but pushed his sugary thoughts away in favor of putting all his concentration into finding the angle that would assault his lover's prostate.

"Please…please," America begged. "Harder… god more England!"

England was only too happy to comply and pulled America's leg up to rest on his shoulder as he began plunging in and out at a delicious pace that had both of them calling out in ecstasy.

"NNff, so good, England!" America yelled as he pulled the Brit in question down for a sloppy but passionate kiss. England could feel his orgasm quickly approaching and reached down to stroke along America's cock until the younger nation was screaming into his mouth as he released. When England felt the nails raking down his back, he couldn't hold back anymore. With a couple more powerful thrusts, he came _hard_ inside America, pumping both of them for all that they were worth.

Neither of them spoke for several long moments.

When England finally regained enough breath and sense to realize that he was practically collapsed on top of America, he groaned as he quickly pulled out and rolled over to lie on his back on the rug.

"Holy hell," America breathed. "I don't think I've ever cum that hard in my entire life."

England laughed disbelievingly as he reached up to wipe at the sweat that had collected on his forehead. "Me neither."

America lolled his head in order to peer over at England and grinned happily as he wrapped an arm around his torso to pull him closer and kiss his shoulder.

"Hey England?"

"Hmm?" England hummed sleepily.

"…You agree now, right? My carpet totally rules."

England laughed as he snuggled further into the warmth that was America, resigning himself to sleeping on the floor for the night.

"Yes, America. This is the best bloody carpet on the face of the earth."

Shag carpet, indeed.

* * *

**A/N: Mad stress from exams + shopping for fabric for my mom=nearly 10 pages of glorious UKUS smut. **

**This is set somewhat ambiguously in the 70's, which was when shag rugs became popular in America. I actually had one in my dorm room last year, but it was a much more tasteful grey instead of orange like America's. **

**Lube in the 70's: I'm not sure if lube was available for public buying with sexual intent, but I do know that it was at least INVENTED in the 70's by NASA of all things. Just roll with it. **

**Hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing this!**


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